


Maybe you were my blue moon...

by Slowburnotptrash



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, I'm hoe for them, Soft af, almost kisses, there are flashbacks to 5x16, this fic is between 5x16 and 5x17, this fic will probably explain the way stydia acted in 5x17
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:47:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14475960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slowburnotptrash/pseuds/Slowburnotptrash
Summary: Selfish, the word Stiles would use to describe himself.Safe, the word Lydia would use to describe him.





	Maybe you were my blue moon...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the "Is this seat taken?" prompt I got on Tumblr. I hope you like it!!!

Here he is now, shamefully, avoiding whatever makes him think of that night. It was like living a nightmare where he’s defenseless, panic heaving in his chest with each tortured scream bursting from Lydia’s throat. Thoughts of never seeing her again invading his mind pushing him to run faster, slam doors and yell her name as loud as he could, hoping she would hear him and know that he isn’t leaving and that he will go above and beyond to get her out, _safe_.  

Selfish, the word he would use to describe himself, after all he only had to listen and watch; Lydia was the one that was languished. If everything still creeps on him in every breathing moment, he can’t imagine how Lydia must be feeling. _He’s such an asshole._

Stiles enters the library and heads to the table the pack always occupied. He chucks his rucksack on it, causing it to land with a loud thud, which earns him a glare from the librarian. He sends her a lopsided smile and mouths an apology before he sits in his seat.

Five minutes into him trying to focus on his Math homework, he shuts the textbook and buries his face in his crossed arms. What he desires is to drive to Lydia’s house, not sit alone with his silent fears, gnawing at him.

He misses her _so_ much to the point where every second without her feels like torture. Torture that he brought upon himself. The last time he’d seen her was the morning after they got her out safe, two days ago. The last thing he told her was “I’ll come back later.” It was said after lots of back and forth between them, that began with him softly asking her to try her best to get all the rest she can get.

He would be lying if he said that the more than usual raspiness in her voice as she quietly fought him back, didn’t tug on his heartstrings. Each syllable that came from her lips, in his head, was replaced with one of the many haunting screams that escaped her throat that night.

Successfully, Lydia was convinced when he sat beside her on bed, promising to get all her homework and to take notes, as if he wasn’t already doing that for her.

She gave him a pure smile followed by a gentle thank you as she reached for him. Stiles didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and pull her on his lap. Surrounding himself with her scent when he buried his face in the crook of her neck and planted a tender kiss against her pale, velvety skin after feeling her soft breaths on his shoulder while her thumb drew soothing patterns against the back of his neck.

Couple of minutes passed of them gripping onto each other like they’re each other’s life line. Simultaneously, both slowly pulled away, sitting pale and motionless, gazing with earnestness into the other's alluring look, noses and foreheads touching and lips almost brushing, Lydia’s hands trailing from his neck to his cheeks, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones. They stayed like that- sharing a breath both wanting but scared to catch the other’s breath with a kiss- until Stiles’ phone rang, forbidding them from crossing lines that friends should never cross. _They both knew that they already crossed too many lines._

With one last lingering glance at the girl who has been occupying his heart for a decade, Stiles left and never came back. Although he did what he promised: he wrote notes and got her homework but he let Scott deliver and check up on her.

From all the adrenaline that was rushing through his veins, he didn’t care about Lydia knowing that he was still in love with her. At that moment, all his thoughts were “Get her out of here alive even if it costs you your life.”

Until he went home the morning after. He barged into his bedroom not bothering to close the door behind him, and finally he let himself break. All the emotions starting from fear to gratitude overcame him. He clutched onto the thought of Lydia being safe, trying to keep his head above the water as he sunk to the floor. His voice broke and shook as he suddenly became a man who prays, desperately praying to God to keep his loved ones safe and to take him before them. If anyone deserves to die, it’s him, he broke, hurt, and killed people.

Less than five minutes later, his dad was cradling him in his arms. It was exactly the same as the day when his dad walked in on him crying over his mom. Two broken people on the bedroom floor, his dad’s back resting against the bed with his heartbeat against Stiles’ ear, his whispers and gentle hair strokes were nothing but comfort.

“It’s okay. She’s safe, son,” his dad frequently mumbled against the crown of his head.

Stiles nodded, sniffed and clutched onto his dad’s forearms for ease as his heart kept heaving with emotions, giving him a frightful feeling. “I still love her.” His voice cracked when he confessed, it was the first time he said it out loud since junior year.

His dad chuckled, dropping a kiss on the top of his son’s head, “yeah, I figured.” That lead to a soft smile forming on Stiles’s face.

 

 

* * *

 

_"Yeah, I figured.”_ His dad’s words linger in his thoughts. He didn’t think about the consequences of holding her the way he did, the consequences of his gentle caress against the side of her head in the back of his jeep, the consequences of wearing his heart on his sleeve that night.

Back when life was simple and innocent, whenever he closed his eyes, his mind plays the memory of when they first met in the kindergarten playground, in the sandbox to be exact, where they built kingdoms with Scott. Not knowing that it will slowly crumble within years. The first stone fell when he gradually faded from his mom’s memory. The second followed when Scott spent the school day with bloodshot eyes, they built a fort that night and in it Scott’s voice cracked when he delivered the news about his parent’s divorce. The third, fell and tumbled a wall along when his mom passed away taking a piece of his heart with her. It kept falling down and it received the hardest hit since his mom, when Allison caught her last breaths.

Now, whenever he closed his eyes, he’s back to the place where they laid Lydia on the cold steel table. The place where she screamed one last time before her body went rigid and slowly lost its warmth. The place where he begged her to wake up. The place where he thought he lost her, his only hope was to look at his best friend, yearning for a nod but what he got is a confirmation that the love of his life’s heart is no longer beating.

All he wanted to do was cradle her in his arms and cry. He even thought about leaning down to plant his lips on hers, maybe a true love’s kiss would breathe her back to life, because he loves her, he fucking loves her and he stupidly let her go. He knows a kiss won't bring her back to him, it’s not a fairytale, but oh how he wished it was. What he did instead was hold onto this tiny little hope in him and remained begging her to open her eyes and she did, _she came back to him._

He remembers his breakdown in her bedroom while she was showering, the sight of her blood on his flannel was the cause. He sobbed silently, his grip on her dresser what kept him from crashing into the ground.

What he was scared she would lose, _her steady breathing_ serenaded him to sleep that night and what woke him was the feeling of her heart beating against his chest. He couldn’t fight the warm smile from creeping across his face. He pressed it against the side of her head and held her tightly but not tight enough, scared to hurt her.

He has his moments where he overthinks about all that happened, the way she looked at him as she reached for his hand, the way they embraced and almost kissed makes him think that maybe she does feel the same, and that glimmer of hope keeps nagging him to hold on.

A familiar raspy voice that he has always been attached to, interrupt his thoughts, making him lift his head while his heart’s pounding in his chest, “Is this seat taken?”

He looks at her with wide eyes, lips a little apart. “Lydia! What are you- what are you doing here? You supposed to be at home, _resting!_ ” He whispers.

“I’ve been lying in bed _alone_ for two days, I had enough of that, trust me,” she mutters.

Self-loathing and shame dig a knife into his chest, when he devours the sadness and sourness in her tone. She gracefully, takes the seat next to him and speaks, “Anyways, you seemed hopeless before I arrived.” And the knife twists with her forced light chuckle.

He brushes his pain off, considering he deserves all of it. “Huh is it that obvious?”

Lydia looks at him with luminous eyes, lips painted in a genuine smile. “You had your head buried in your arms.”

“Makes sense.” He presses his lips and raises his eyebrows in amusement, before shifting his gaze at her, smiling so _wistfully._

A moment, he takes to capture her appearance, beautiful as always, her hair parted to the side, soft strawberry blonde waves veiling the scar. Her arms covered with a burgundy long sleeved shirt tucked into black denim skirt. Any outsider would never guess that a hole got drilled into her head and that she almost died two nights ago. _‘She’s so strong.’ Stiles thinks._

He’s still smiling and looking at her when he adds, “I was just catching up with my math homework and as you can tell, it’s not going as well as I anticipated.”

“Is it the Riemann hypothesis one?” Her eager gaze falls to his textbook, his eyes following hers.

“Yeah, it’s just that some of the stuff went totally over my head, wasn’t that focused in class, I guess.” Stiles gives her a quick glance, can't seem to take his eyes off of her. The truth that he cant get himself to voice is that his focus that day was on her vacant seat next to him where she was supposed to be, not all alone in Eichen house.

“Well, I can explain it to you.” Lydia offers as she reaches for his textbook, sliding it in the middle between them.

He almost chokes, remembering his own desperate words, _‘Maybe you can wake up and explain it to me?’_

“Yeah, I would love that.” He grants her one of his softest smiles and opens the textbook. While she scoots her chair closer to his, resting her elbows on the table, they’re sitting too close. Stiles tries to be oblivious, neglecting how his heart is hammering in his ribcage, how flushed Lydia’s cheeks appear, and how all he can smell is her fragrance which triggers lots of memories; the good and the bad. _From_ his nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck as they slowly swayed with the music _to_ her screams echoing in the narrow dark tunnels as her runny nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

Nonetheless, Lydia can feel his hot breaths against her cheek, it almost makes her turn her head to the side and kiss him. It would only take a second but she suppresses her urges and focuses on the task at hand. It goes well, ignoring her cravings to close the undesirable gap between them, until they both synchronously lean to turn the page and in the process her hand haphazardly grazes his.

They slump into silence that’s only filled with the sound of their breathing. Akin to how they slept in each other’s arms that night except that two days ago the atmosphere was also brimmed with the sound of their heartbeats. Now it feels like they’re miles away from each other.

She wishes she can tell him that he was the only thing that made her feel safe that night even when they got her home where she’s _supposed_ to feel secure. She recalls tearing up in the shower, so frustrated as she scrubbed her body, _too_ hard, trying to get rid of any reminders of the unwanted touches she received. Trying to make herself feel safe in her own skin. And then she sunk to the bathtub floor, forehead resting on the porcelain edge, as she completely sobbed. Everything being too overwhelming for her. She felt defeated and even humiliated that she couldn’t protect herself. She almost died, almost made her friends die, almost made the boy that she absentmindedly fell in love with die.

When she went back to her room in grey sweatpants and an oversized purple sweatshirt, she found Stiles sitting on her bed with his back towards her, face covered in his hands. When he noticed her presence in the room, he wiped his eyes and turned to face her, giving her a broken smile. She answered it with one of her own. No need for words to know that they both were crying and both of them were so thankful that the other didn’t mention it.  

They didn’t know how to act around each other, both wanting the other to initiate the first move, the move that will let them fall back into each other. Stiles, thankfully, was the one. He watched her as she brushed her hair, slowly untangling it and wincing a little when she unintentionally tugs a little bit too hard. Stiles carefully got up and approached her, taking the brush from her grip and gently wrapping his fingers around her hand. _“Come on I’ll brush it for you,”_ he whispered then led her to the bed.  Sat with one leg tucked under him while she settled crossed legged in front of him, he so tenderly began to brush her hair. _“If I hurt you even just a little bit, you tell me okay?”_ She nodded and closed her eyes, felt so safe and warm under his delicate fingertips.

But that’s how they _were_ , up in her room where vulnerability guided them as if they were ragged dolls. If they touched and the other drew back, they could’ve easily blamed it on the vulnerability. _Now,_ they’re in the library, fear of the unknown gripping them and before any touch and words, goes billion thought. Everything is so tentative, it’s like what they have left of their old friendship is fragile, one misstep could demolish it.

Initially, Lydia thought about snatching her hand away from his as if this gentle brush of skin elicited flames, but she’s so drained from always pulling away from him. So with a pounding and a scared heart she keeps her hand above his.

A sudden stir convinces her that he’s going to yank his hand away, and with a sinking heart she braces herself to mourn the loss of contact. He does the last thing she expects, he turns his hand letting his palm rest against hers, which causes an endearing smile to rise up on her face. Lydia locks her gaze on their hands, lost in the observation of how his hand is so much bigger than hers. She gently traces his palm. She’s too mesmerized  that she forgets to bite her own tongue...

“You saved me… I didn’t get to properly thank you.” Lydia stumbles on her words, can’t comprehend that she for once is talking about her feelings. Silently, she cusses herself and takes a small breath before adding, without giving him a chance to talk if he wanted, “I know the whole pack was involved but they weren’t the ones I was thinking of when I was on the edge of losing my sanity and giving up. You stopped me. I… I felt and heard you when you visited-” She stops mid sentence, trying to gain her composure, scared to break. “-I.... I’ve been feeling alone for quite a while. I needed to hear what you said, it made me feel not isolated. I’ve never felt like that since-”  

 _Allison_.

Her name was on the tip of her tongue, it stays there, not wanting to guilt the boy next to her. Because she knows it’s not his fault, if she only got her timing right, she would have been in his arms while both of them grieved over the loss of a close friend.

Unconsciously, she maps the letters of his name followed by hers against the palm of his hand. “-Stiles, please don’t cut me off, again.” And that’s when her voice finally cracks and a tear glides down her flushed cheek. It fucks her up, to see her tear landing on his palm, it’s a reminder of how he holds the capacity to break her and make her cry, if he wanted. She knows that he would never do that intentionally, since the start he only did one thing; _he fixed her_ . Despite how much it horrifies her, she wants to fix him too, if he just lets her. She doesn’t know how exactly, but she recalls how his words and touch mended her slowly but fortuitously broke her when he took himself out of her life and only swinged by when danger surrounded her. _“At least he still cares,” she kept thinking._

Lydia is capable of explaining scientific studies of anything but she _can’t_ put her feelings into words. Although she’s willing to try for Stiles. However, for now, she sticks with her touch.

Stiles’ hand shaking underneath hers, mirroring her trembling lips, is what makes her index still, no longer tracing his palm.

His thick voice calling her name, gravitates her eyes to meet his, letting him see the vulnerability in them- after all, he’s the only person she would bare her soul to and let her armor down for. What she didn’t expect is to see his glistening with unshed tears as well.

She inhales and holds his glassy gaze as all the vulnerable memories of him looking at her crashes upon her, starting from the moment when they pulled away from their first kiss- his confused but gentle expression searching her face, looking for an answer. An answer that she didn’t have until now- _she loves him_ \- And ending with the way he’s looking at her right now. She is so familiar with this look, a look she only received from him, she exhales and finally comes to the realization that _he might still be in love with her._

So she reminds herself, _no pulling away, no more regrets._

His gaze keeps falling on her lips from time to time and due to her eyes being so fixated on his, she mirrors them and glances at his lips. She then meets his eyes again, finding herself under his intense, full of earnestness, gaze. She wants to cry and scream, _“prove me right about you loving me back and kiss me.”_

But instead Lydia disobeys her thoughts and turns her gaze to their hands, feeling her heart break as her fingers slowly slide from the palm of his hand. _So slow_ , hoping, wishing he would prevent her from letting go whilst her fingertips linger against his one last time.

She swallows the lump in her throat and puts her attention back to his textbook. “Anyways, for this equation you should start with…”

With a completely weary heart, she adds another regret to the list.

 

**_Maybe I let go too soon..._ **

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank lots of people:
> 
> My little sister (tumblr: @celestial-eve) thank you for always encouraging me to write and being so welling to read my fic even tho you don't ship stydia, and for fixing the mistakes you found.  
> Fer (tumblr, ao3: @lydiastxles) thank you for being the nicest person ever and for reading this fic and telling me exactly what to fix. You're never afraid to say the truth and that makes me trust you with anything.  
> Ashley (twitter: @AshFranSan) thank you for offering to be the last person to check the fic and beta it. You're so sweet and I'm so grateful!!!!!!  
> Tara (tumblr: @stydiamccall) thank you for hyping my ass whenever I send you ideas and always motivating me to write. Telling me that you got so emotional because of the little bits I sent you of the fic, made me so excited to post it!!!!  
> Finally, You the reader, thank you so much for taking time to read this and I hope you liked it, and if you did please leave me feedback, it means a lot!!!!  
> I LOVE YOU ALL!!!  
> Feel free to talk to me my tumblr is @slowburnotptrash


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